


we’ll be a fine line

by softsmilesandbrokenhearts



Category: The Beatles (Band)
Genre: (sort of at least lol), 1970s, Anal Sex, Angst and Feels, Canon Compliant, Hopeful Ending, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Reminiscing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-05-30
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24460231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softsmilesandbrokenhearts/pseuds/softsmilesandbrokenhearts
Summary: and it’s love, john knows this, knows that it is returned, impossibly so. but it’s so clear, who could hurt him so much and in return get hurt back, without there being some sort of love to exist. best mates wouldn’t fight the way they did, and certainly wouldn’t be so affected by it.or, paul is in new york, and john has mixed feelings about it all. things are rarely so simple with the two of them.
Relationships: John Lennon/Paul McCartney
Comments: 18
Kudos: 58





	we’ll be a fine line

**Author's Note:**

> i have a thing for paul and john meeting up in the 70s and sort of having some sort of reconciliation. it’s just so bittersweet and that’s how i like it best lol. also since john is american (technically) i’ve use the word ‘ass’ instead of ‘arse’ cause continuity lol. no defamation intended, i don’t own these people.

this wasn’t planned, but things between them rarely are. it’s a messy and gorgeous thing of theirs, much like the rest of their history. their fateful meeting, rise to success, and the ugly fall that followed. john doesn’t want to think of how true this is, years of bitter resentment a constant shadow over their heads. that’s not what this about, not really. though he loathes to think what could happen should this end, the haze that covers them now, earthy and saccharine. 

their lips barely touch, mouths barely open, breath intermingling. john can taste the liquor that lines paul’s breath, heavy and intoxicating in the sweetest way. they breathe in each other’s breath, gasping from the rising heat between their bodies and the waves that continue to crash. on and on again, it’s relentless tearing their bodies and building them up again. it’s symbolic, this dance of their bodies, so similar to their relationship. the highs and lows, the tension that’s been there from the start. it comes and goes, but it would be foolish to think it’s truly ever gone.

paul’s arms curl around his body, slick with sweat and they grip his back fiercely, as if he was afraid that john would disappear. it’s an interesting resolve of paul’s, so desperate to fix things between them, without understanding it takes two to do such. john recalls a time where paul didn’t want to fix things, and instead hid, behind his music, behind his wife, behind that awful beard of his. paul has always been stubborn, so set in his beliefs that he knows what is right and everyone else is wrong, at a time he found it charming but now it’s obnoxious. he will admit he was at fault too, but he refuses to think that paul wasn’t part of the problem. if he has to fall, so does paul. 

and yet here they are, bodies pressed together, the scent of paul’s obnoxiously earthy scent mixing with his own, until they mix and are inseparable. 

paul thrusts slowly up into john’s warm heat, and he makes a noise as if wounded, and he might be for all john knows. he barely knows paul anymore, not the way he used to, and it’s a strange distant memory to think of how they used to be best friends. they still are, in his head on nights when he’s drunk too much and yoko is gone off somewhere, and left him all alone in his thoughts. he wonders if paul thinks the same, if he can feel the tug between their hearts still, desperate to reunite them back together. he must, or he wouldn’t be here with his guitar, and scary determination to fix things between them. 

john grips a hand around paul’s arm, noting the heavy muscle beneath the skin, and he wants to remark on it, that as john looses weight and becomes this skinny pale thing, paul gains it, a healthy heady look to him. it’s as if the weight that falls off his bones transports itself to paul and makes itself at home. he keeps his mouth shut, a rare thing for him, because paul used to be so strangely insecure about his weight, so unlike paul, and he does not know if it still affects him. john has always liked paul’s body, his soft long legs and broad shoulders, inherently masculine yet so boyish, and his pretty lips and doll eyes. he remembers a time when he only got off to thoughts of paul, visions of pale, sweet skin on his, a snatch of dark hair in his bed. it’s a strange thought, that he used to be so utterly obsessed with him, he doesn’t give it thought, can’t without breaking, and instead kisses paul, wet and filthy, until the two of them see nothing but stars. 

he pulls away, and drags his thumb on paul’s bottom lip, catching their mixed saliva that threatens to drop, and licks it off, tasting mixture with a heated gaze at paul. he receives a low groan in return, and john smirks when the cock inside him twitches. 

they’ve always been almost opposites, too afraid to be alike, but too similar to really have a clear distinction between the two of them. john thinks it’s why they fought and fell so hard, because they knew each other far too well for it not to hurt. and even now, it hurts, an aching burn in more ways that one. he wants to pull away and run, afraid of getting burnt again, but he longs to pull the man closer, desperate to relearn their person he once knew. 

john rides paul, slowly, tension threatening to burst, and so he goes steadily, agonizingly careful. his breaths are harsh, it’s hard to breathe with the nearly angry hold paul has on his torso, too tight but perfect. it wouldn’t feel right in any other way but this, sweet and slow, but underlined with the pain that now exists between them. 

this is their first time. something that never fails to shock him, even when he wasn’t on speaking terms with the man beneath him.

it was of course a near thing multiple times, it had to be, anyone who stayed in a room with more than five minutes could feel the strange heated nature that is john and paul. johnandpaul, a singular word once, when the two barely separated, living in each other’s pockets. wherever john was, paul was sure to follow, and vice versa. john doesn’t dare say it, refuses to admit it aloud, but he wonders if they’ll ever be that again, inseparable. his brain tells him no, that there is too much history behind them, that they are old now, not young foolish boys who lusted after music and fame. 

still, john likes to dream, in the comfort of his mind, where his words won’t come out with stale resentment, and bitter anger that he’s not sure he means anymore. it’s the same for paul, sometimes they’ll talk and paul will say something heated, cruel and his eyes will widen with regret, and he’ll stutter out a half-baked apology. they used to be able to talk shit to each other without stumbling over cool politeness. it’s awful this thing they’ve become, where they know everything and yet nothing of each other, and john reckons they are stupid, the both of them, but he also figures it will never stop. the universe is rarely so kind.

he recalls a warm night in paris, their first almost, with a ferocity that surprises him. both had been drunk, drunk on parisian alcohol and the highs of such a beautiful city surrounding them. paul had been giggling, the way he does when he drinks enough, and he had collapsed next to john on their shared bed. john recalls the heated look paul gave him, unafraid and wanting, and all john could focus on was the pale shoulder that was slipping out of the shirt he let paul borrow. he had moved suddenly, swift for a man that was appalling drunk, and bit down on the juncture of john’s neck, and licked away, soothing the red mark.

and john had wanted, wanted so badly to reach back and kiss paul senselessly. wanted to press him into the bed and roll his hips down, feeling the heavy weight of their lust, and the words they dare not say.

but he didn’t, afraid of how much he wanted and how wrong it felt. not only was paul drunk past coherent thinking, but they were both male, and while john had eventually came to terms that sometimes he found lads attractive, that was neither the time or place.

and so he forced paul to sleep, and ran to a tiny cafe to drink and eat away his fears, heart beating in ugly regret and heated want. because he realized he couldn’t take something like that from paul, not when there was a chance of paul hating him for it.

john loved him too much to do that. loves him still even now, when he really shouldn’t. hates himself, and paul for it, because they shouldn’t be seeing each other and certainly shouldn’t be doing this. they aren’t the same anymore, they’ve changed nearly too much, and john shouldn’t still want paul to the point that he can’t breathe. and paul shouldn’t still look up to him, want his opinion, when he knows he won’t get one and gets so disappointed afterwards. it’s an ugly thing losing what you once had, and even uglier when you realize it’s gone. but they keep coming back to each other to mend each other and break down again. his mind briefly drifts off to yoko, and he wonders what she’d say if he told her. wonders if linda knows of this already, would accept paul even if he came home after fucking a man. he wonders if it’s really still cheating on their wives, when for as long as he can remember, he’s been emotionally cheating on them with paul, his mind, and heart, belonging to his mate. but never his body, not until now, in paul’s over extravagant hotel room. 

paul’s hips stutter, and still, and john opens eyes that he didn’t know closed, to find paul staring at him, open and scared, and so full of affection. he can feel him tense, as if trying not to come, and john laughs a little, breaking the strange silence between them.

john stops moving as well, stomach fluttering with nerves, and they look at each other, stilled in this moment. reveling in the idea that this is happening, and their bodies are impossibly close, minds here to witness this accumulation of over twenty years of built of love and lust.

and it’s love, john knows this, knows that it is returned, impossibly so. but it’s so clear, who could hurt him so much and in return get hurt back, without there being some sort of love to exist. best mates wouldn’t fight the way they did, and certainly wouldn’t be so affected by it.

john loves him, loves him so intensely sometimes it scares him, to the point where it pales it comparison to anyone he’s ever loved before and at other times he hates him, hates him for making him love such an asshole. hates that he can’t have this, that society is so fucked over that they flip out over two men kissing. hates that they are like this, still impossibly connected but it’s murky, and twisted, a testament to their fallout. he loves it even more because of this, not unlike the thrill of getting away with something naughty as a child. 

john has so many things he wishes to say, but his tongue often fails him, and it’s hard to talk to paul now, without someone getting hurt. it’s something john regrets, but he can’t fix it, not now at least, so he hopes his eyes do the talking instead. their eyes meet and still, locking into each other and john falls deep into the intricate emotion that he finds, naked and open for him to see.

the day the band broke up come to his mind, forceful and bittersweet, and it hurts so much even now to think of. he doesn’t regret all of it, the break that followed was welcomed, and he truly didn’t want to tour anyone. he misses the music sometimes but he can have that still, that’s why paul is here with his magical brain and deft fingers, so they can make music. he remembers paul escaping through the door, lawyers following his trail with hesitant footsteps, and he remembers calling out his name, in some desperate way to get the last word. their eyes had met, anger and betrayal so obvious in paul’s, and he was so close to crying that it was scary, and all john managed to do was smile, mean at the edges and cracking with his own anger. it was a tragic goodbye, unfinished at that. and when he reopened his eyes, he was left in an empty room, with only the image of paul’s eyes superimposed onto the door.

all he felt in the last moments of the beatles was strange glee and a guilty sadness that he couldn’t face. 

by now, john’s cock is aching, a burning red drooling down onto his stomach, but he doesn’t touch it, doesn’t dare when paul fixes his own eyes on it, dark and heavy. he looks back up at john, and smiles, and the both of them pretend that the sad shake to paul’s smile didn’t happen. they are always angry or sad with each other, to replace what used to be elation and pure trust that they had for one another. he wants this to last forever, he fears what will happen next, doesn’t want to consider this being the first and only time. they are connected now, and john doesn’t want to let go.

paul reaches up and traces his face with light, shaking fingers, and john has to hold back a smile when they fall down to press against his lips, waiting. 

they are breathing heavy now, weed and alcohol setting the tone for this scene, and it’s hazy and yellow at the edges, when john opens his mouth. paul presses two fingers in, and john does his best not to moan at the salty callouses that brush against his tongue. he sucks, and watches paul, looks at the way his breath hitches and his eyes fixate on his mouth with a reverence that should not belong in this moment. it’s too soft, the both of them so achingly slow and sugary, and it shouldn’t feel as right as it does. 

that’s why the pain is so welcome, the bite of paul’s fingers and the dark looks he gets during this, because truly they are too broken to act like this, too far gone to be school children with pathetic crushes. 

john can’t even feel it in this moment, the resentment and unsolved problems the two have, too caught up in weight of paul’s cock in his ass and the taste of paul’s sweat, and the way he desperately wants to speak.

he wants to say it out loud, say those three words that don’t really capture the complexity of feelings he has towards the man, but he doesn’t. he knows should he say it, speak aloud in this murky, sedated moment, it will break. if they say it, they will have to talk about other things, and they can’t talk to each other, not pleasantly. 

if someone is going to say it, it will have to be paul. john is a coward, but he started this and so paul can end it. and really the middle word is so interchangeable, that either one would make sense. both mean so much, and could explain, if barely, the way the two feel for each other. because things between them is never simple, never something so easy. to simply hate him or love him would be enough, but john finds himself doing both. 

the line between the two has always been too close for comfort.

paul’s fingers press particularly hard against his palate, and john groans, head tossed back. john wonders how long they can stay like this, impossibly still, except for his tongue and paul’s dexterous fingers. both of them are desperate for it, but they drag it out as if it were their last.

it’s always been like this, they’ve done it since this thing between them started. staying close to each other, close enough to touch only to pull away, a constant back and forth between the two of them. torturing each other with unrivaled want, but never taking. taking would be admitting that there was something, that they weren’t just best friends, each other’s worst enemies. 

his eyes wrench open when paul thrusts into him violently, and his head is falling into the groove of paul’s neck, and he moans.

in the months, god years, that they were separated, it was easy to tell himself that it was for the best. that they were better off with their wives, living relatively normal lives and forgetting each other. free from the grief they bring each other and the mess that they are together. it was always harder to convince himself to believe this. 

because paul was his other half in many regards. he loves yoko dearly, and he finds many things about their endearing, but he’ll often catch himself comparing her to paul. paul may have not been his first love, but he was the most significant. he’s not daft to think that who he is as a person isn’t because of paul, and the meanness in paul and the easy confidence in paul didn’t have something to do with john. 

they built each other up, it’s only reasonable to take each other down.

once upon a time, john had thought that he was strong enough to forget this. but it was impossible, he could not stay away, not forever, and so the phone calls began. they weren’t nice, not at first, but the mean and ugly things he could spew down the line allowed him to hear paul’s voice, and for a while it was enough. the phone calls grew casual, and suddenly he was calling to talk about the most random things, and he’d hear paul laugh, and everything felt better. he couldn’t stay away, the pull between them was too strong, and had he not wanted this, he should of left it back in liverpool. back when a boy with a guitar too big for his shoulders, shoved his way into his life and made himself home in john’s heart. but he’s always had a weak heart, foolishly so, and so on the calls continued.

but then suddenly there was paul, calling him about how he was in new york. that if john wanted, they could see each other, play music. in hindsight, john should have known that music would be played, just not the kind that comes from an instrument.

when he got the hotel address and drove there, ignoring the suspicious looks yoko gave him on the way out, he knew he was screwed. when he knocked on the door, and paul opened it with a nervous smile, and a joint in his fingers, john knew there was no going back.

it was awkward at first, seeing someone you haven’t really seen since your weird attempt at getting back at your wife. john recalls paul coming down, during that lost weekend, and it was nice but john tries not to think of it too much. the shame he had crawling back to yoko was strong enough to ignore most of what happened during those months, paul included. but then they fell into this haze, happy and quiet, similar to their old jam sessions, and it was nice to be reminded of a memory that wasn’t awful.

he had watched paul’s fingers strum lazily across his guitar, and had been so caught up in the moment, that he failed to notice paul’s chest shaking or the way he ever so hesitantly placed his guitar down.

paul had looked at him suddenly, pupils blown to hell, and he had smiled, watery around the curves, always so sad and reached out to pat his shoulder awkwardly, as if they’ve never touched before and john broke.

“i missed you.” he said quietly, and it’s so stupid because paul is right there, but he isn’t really, not the paul that exists in his head or the one that lies in john’s fondest memories. he is afraid of his own admissions, scared to break the shaky truce between the two, but it only seems to strengthen paul’s resolve, and he had crawled closer to him to hug him fiercely.

there were no tears, or any strange laughter that escaped them, but a heavy, strange silence, where both of them had breathed each other in with choked breaths. and then paul pulled away slightly, with an alien light in his eyes, and john knew what was coming before it happened. paul kissed him then, lips locked onto his own in a hard, bruising kiss, and john could feel the anger, and loss, and cautious hope that was layered into it. it was perfect.

they began to move again, the bed creaking, as paul moves earnestly, groaning loudly into john’s hair. john licks the collarbone pressed against his nose, and stifles his cries into the meat of paul’s shoulder, as a particularly harsh thrust shakes him and picks him apart. paul’s fingernails dig into hips, sharp and grieving in their touch, afraid to let go and loose him, but angry that he has him, that he’s gave in to this. john in turn grips paul back, fingers digging into the flexing biceps, and tense shoulders, as he falls apart and tries to hold on.

paul lets go of him with one hand, and it trails down to his ass, where it meets the opening of where he ends and paul begins. he feels the wet fingers circle his hole, and he groans into paul’s neck from the sensation, the way paul’s hips are hitting his so harshly but his hands touch him so softly. paul sucks in a breath, gasping for air, and john feels that sentiment, feels the burning in his lungs, and the water in his eyes threatening to spill. he is drowning and it’s perfect, and ugly in a heart clenching sort of way, and john couldn’t have dreamt of anything better.

“can i?” paul questions, and it’s the first time either of them have spoken since paul had pressed him into the bed with questioning eyes. he rubs a little harder at the edge of where he enters john’s body, and it not really a question but he nods anyways, desperate for more.

john wants to tell paul he’ll do anything he asks of him, but it would ruin the moment, too true and yet not true at all.

“anything.” he hisses, voice hoarse. “come break me.” 

two fingers press in and join paul’s cock, and john moans, a near whine at the sensation.

john’s heart hurts now, beating frantically against his chest, and he feels so much, too much to explain, and tears prick in his eyes as paul begins to thrust sporadically, loosing rhythm as the waves begin to cover them both. 

“paul, come on paul.” it’s a whisper, barely there, because if he speaks any louder he thinks he’ll cry. he rubs himself against paul’s chest, the hair catching on his cock, deliciously so, and john feels like he is going to break. paul hums against his temple, more a breath of hot air than anything, and his hand on john’s hip squeezes, desperate and needy.

“god, john now.” paul gasps against his ear, and john doesn’t deny paul this, and he lets go. he comes, a scream echoing in his ears, one that he doesn’t truly recognize as his own, and his body shakes beyond control, as he comes down, paul’s hips shaking beneath his own and a hand still rubbing against his cock.

he then feels paul tense up, back going straight and his face contorts into a agonized pleasure, something john wants to remember forever, as he spills into john’s body. their hips twitch against each other, and they are breathing hard now, gasping for air that has all but left the room, too heated and sticky to truly fill their lungs. it’s different now, once they’ve come down, and the hazy feeling is gone, left with a clarity that is scary. it hits paul in the next second, as he pulls away slightly, and his eyes look nearly normal now, as they trace john’s. there is no regret there, but there is worry and fear, that lace the strange affection that john has realized is just for him. 

before john can say anything, paul collapses downwards onto the bed, and drags him down as well, until both lay on their sides facing each other. pain slowly slips out, and chuckles slightly when john winces at the sensation. john feels heavy and lethargic, but he doesn’t dare close his eyes for fear that when he opens them, paul will be gone.

but things feel so strange now, stilled and awkward, and john is desperate to say things that he can’t say. he looks at paul, who is still breathing hard and shines underneath the rising sunlight. paul looks at him with a knowing look, and before his nerves catch him, he speaks despite john’s noise of warning. 

“it’s funny, first time we see each other in years, and we can’t even properly converse.” paul’s voice is laced in amusement, but john can see the shake in the purse of paul’s mouth, and the way his hands reach out but stall as if he doesn’t know if he can touch now. if the weird fog that settles over them is the only thing that allows this, and now that it’s gone, they have gone back to normal. john doesn’t know how to answer without being obnoxious and border line rude, or genuine and too sincere. he tries anyways, and fixates his eyes on the marks covering paul’s neck instead of the intense eyes staring back at him.

“well nothing like a good fuck to get a talk going. pillow talk is quite popular with the ladies these days, you know?” he grimaces at the words as soon as they come out, and he wonders if they sound as awkward as they feel. instead of the heated annoyance he was subconsciously expecting from paul, he gets a little laugh. and then another, and it continues until paul is convulsing with laughter, shaking john with it. he laughs too, tensed up and confused, but all too happy to hear him laugh so freely. 

it takes a moment for paul to calm down, and when he finally lets his head back down, there are tears streaming down his face, that he wipes away fruitlessly. he doesn’t look sad, but he knows the tears are, built up from everything that’s happened and only barely been allowed to fall. john stares at him, and tries not to be concerned when paul’s eyes find his again, and they are filled with a mixture of annoyance and a desperate fondness.

“god this is so awkward, what the hell john.” paul says, and john can’t tell if he’s genuinely angry or not, can’t read him the way he used to be able to, and so he pulls away indignation, and tries to sit up. an arm grabs his waist before he can, and he’s thrown back down onto the bed, and pulled until he’s nearly touching paul.

paul chuckles again, and presses a gentle kiss to his forehead. “i missed this, or well not this, but i’ve missed you.” it’s earnest in a way they usually aren’t with each other, and it affects john so clearly, when a shudder passes over his body. paul quiets down, and a subtle frown covers his face, one john is more familiar with now. he stares back, and the air becomes tense again, unmoving and strangled, as they try and tell each other words that they don’t know how to say. 

john gets desperate, an a feeling not unlike what he felt mere minutes ago, and he opens his mouth to say it, get it over with, and break all the promises he made to himself. but he hesitates, and paul sees it, and john watches as paul narrows his eyes and jabs a finger into his chest.

“say it.” paul demands, voice deep and not quite angry, but some sort of red hot emotion that john can’t place. john wonders how paul can still read him, know what he’s going to say before he says it. he tries not to think about how if paul is so intuitive, how come he couldn’t save them. he shakes his head, similar to a petulant kid, and paul rolls his eyes, and pokes him again. “come on, say it you coward.” this time paul is angry, and john can feel his own bull build up and prepare for a fight, because really? he’s the coward? john opens his mouth ready to snap at him, but a hand comes up and covers his mouth. paul stares at him with an unimpressed look, and visibly calms down before speaking again. “do i have to say it first? is that really what we are going to fucking do?” he ask, and john doesn’t really consider the question before he nods, a little shake to his head. he breathes in the mixed scent of their bodies on paul’s hand, and watches as paul’s face goes through a mix of emotions. usually by now, john would have called paul an obnoxious piece of shit and hung up on him, but this isn’t a phone call, and john doesn’t want to fight, not really.

john wonders when’s the last time either of them have stopped to think before they spoke to each other. 

paul inhales, and it’s shaky when it’s released. john watches with anticipation as paul runs a hand through his hair and looks back at john with unsure eyes. john nods again, and paul shoots him a dirty look and then sighs, heavy and put off, as if he were being forced to do something truly awful. loving him can’t be that awful, though john will admit he has his faults.

“god you’re such an arsehole.” paul lets out frustratedly and then grabs john by the shoulders and pulls him forward, to press their foreheads together. paul closes his eyes and the breathes out, before they open up with a sincere light to them. “i love you.”

it’s simple, and almost anticlimactic, but it’s been years of waiting and pining, and wishing he weren’t doing either, and so it hits him hard. john lets out a gasp and reaches forward to kiss paul, soft and chaste, because his lungs can’t handle anything else right now. he pulls back after a moment and he looks at paul, who is now pale and frozen, lips trembling for reasons john can relate to. on the outside though, john visibly scoffs and wacks his shoulder.

“don’t be so stupid paul.” unfortunately for him, his voice decides to crack then and there, and john quickly continues before paul can comment on it. “i love you too. sometimes.” he adds on with a snicker and paul glares at him, but john feels the palpable relief that fills the air around them. and it’s true for the most part, sometimes when he thinks of paul, it’s filled with nothing but affection but other times it’s cold and barren, replaced with the cloudy effects of drugs and an empty stomach. john doesn’t think he ever really stops loving paul, but it’s nice to think he does.

john isn’t so daft to think saying this will solve anything, but he hopes that it will help them communicate, and maybe fight less. he smiles at paul, a pale, emotional thing, and paul smiles back, sweet and genuine. paul then grabs his hand and intertwines their fingers with a hum. with a jolt he realizes what song he’s humming and he snickers, and squeezes his hand tighter.

“really paul? it’s not the sixties anymore. that’s ridiculously cheesy.” it’s kinda of bullshit, how suddenly after everything paul can read him, and john can tell paul doesn’t buy a word he says. 

john presses his head to paul’s chest, and listens to the steady heartbeat beneath him, and slows his breathing down to match it, becoming one step closer to being one. a hand curls around his cheek, and caresses it, on the side of a bit to harsh, but john enjoys it because it’s real and nothing feels better than that.

it quiets down, but this time it’s clear, clear and bright in a way it hasn’t been between them for a while, and when the sun shines into the room and falls on the two of them, it tastes like hope.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope this was okay? i had a hard time with john’s pov and i wanted to switch to paul but i don’t like quiting so i tried haha. if you liked it or found a mistake feel free to leave a comment! i love talking to you guys, hope all of you are well and safe :)


End file.
